


Nobody Move, Nobody Gets Hurt

by Tinwoman



Series: Directives [3]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Hand Jobs, Interrupted Sex, M/M, Post-Canon, Spy vs. Spy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:41:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24050767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tinwoman/pseuds/Tinwoman
Summary: Deacon continues to turn up in strange places. X6 maintains his cover under extraordinary circumstances.Eventually, everyone’s compromised.
Relationships: Deacon/X6-88
Series: Directives [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/723162
Comments: 17
Kudos: 72





	Nobody Move, Nobody Gets Hurt

It’s odd, being back among the Institute scientists; they’re clearly weakened from the destruction of the underground stronghold, shaken by the ex-Director’s betrayal, but in many ways they’re exactly as X6 remembers. Holed up here, in a hastily scavenged, dilapidated office building rather than the pristine shine of what they used to have, but ultimately still the same. Distracted by their own experiments, wary of the rest of the Commonwealth and the dangers that they can no longer barricade themselves from, desperate to go back in time and create something that reflects the world as it used to be, instead of how it is now. X6 understands, of course, but it’s still strange to see these intelligent, ostensibly highly-trained individuals react to basic facets of wasteland life (hunting, cooking, keeping watch, a dozen other mundane tasks) with such cringing distaste.

_They really never left the Institute_ , X6 thinks idly, watching Dr. Sheffner with bored disinterest as the biophysicist fails for the third time to keep his needle and thread untangled. _For them, this is a temporary inconvenience, and acquiring these skills are still a distraction, a waste of their brain power. That’s why they created us, after all — we were meant to do these tasks for them._

Familiar and not-familiar all at once, really. He might as well be furniture here — no one speaks to him unless giving an order, requesting information, or clarifying a detail from his past patrol. The synths hold their breath when he passes, the humans stare right through him. A past life. A different life. A choice he could’ve made.

Not at all like who he is now.

X6 closes his eyes, and repeats the mission briefing in his head. _Observe, and record all relevant info that you can. Do not interfere in a way that will compromise your cover, even if a settlement is in danger. Report back to the Railroad via dead drop once you’re reliably in the field again. Use your best judgement. Keep yourself alive, keep yourself safe._

It’s been a month and a half, and already he’s gathered quite a bit of information. He knows there’s no central location for the remaining Institute scientists — they’re kept deliberately siloed to prevent another betrayal, though who exactly is making that call, X6 still doesn’t know. There must be some leader — the Institute doesn’t know any other way — but all of his attempts to find out more have hit dead end after dead end. Frustrating, but he’ll have to be patient.

He isn’t alone here, either; X6 is one of two ‘recovered’ Coursers, and 33 ‘recovered’ synth loyalists. Current operations are scattershot, but they seem to be focused on gathering as much tech, and as many lost synths, as possible. Bring them back into the fold and take as much of the labor off of the scientists as possible, freeing the Institute humans up to take the next steps toward rebuilding.

_Not terribly surprising_ , X6 thinks, shifting his weight slightly and nudging the stripped remains of a typewriter with his booted foot. But HQ seemed pleased all the same.

It feels good, to be useful again. To have a purpose. A mission. X6 was not built for an idle life.

“Still stuck on guard duty?” a voice behind him asks, and X6 turns to see T5-61, his fellow recovered courser.

She’s tall and broad-shouldered — all coursers tend toward physical strength and imposing figures, but T5 is particularly well-built. ‘Stacked’, as the humans might say, with smooth tan skin and her dark hair pinned neatly into a knot at the base of her neck. They’d run a few missions together, back in the old days, and had a positive working relationship.

X6 doesn’t know if he’s happy to see her again or not. On the one hand, her presence is an undeniable comfort, both personally and practically. He enjoys her wit, appreciates her skill in battle. On the other hand…well. On the other hand, she’s presumably not also on a secret undercover mission to pass on critical Institute information to the Railroad, effectively bringing the Institute down from within for a second time.

She’s an enemy, like everyone else here. She’s his only friend.

“It’s only natural to want the best watching your back,” X6 responds.

T5 doesn’t laugh, but X6 can see the flicker of a smile on her face all the same. Too subtle for anyone but a courser to notice, perhaps, but his own lips twitch in response.

“A shame there’s just the two of us,” she says, standing next to him with her arms folded behind her back. “You’ll keep missing all the fun.”

“Is anyone having any fun these days?” X6 says, and she tilts her head in dry acknowledgement before rolling her shoulders and continuing.

“I’m getting the closest thing to it. Headed up north in a few days,” she says. “Up near the old Vault 111. It has to be more interesting than bandit-chasing. Might discover a few new scavenge sites, as well.”

_Vault 111. Sanctuary._

“Some of us have all the luck,” he says, keeping up with the light banter, trying to keep the shiver of worry out of his voice.

_Garvey. His settlers. I could move my next drop up by a few days, add in a warning message to the ex-Director. Makes tactical sense._

Dr. Scheffner motions to T5, and before X6 can ask for more information she’s giving X6 a friendly parting nod and walking briskly away to attend to her duties.

_No matter,_ X6 thinks, stepping aside for a group of humans led by another of this building’s scientists. _If she’s not leaving for a few days, I’ll have time to make another pass for the details. They should at least be able to mount a defense with Garvey’s Minutemen._

The scientists wave him over as well — some announcement about guard rotations, probably, or about T5’s mission to head up north. X6 waits until the bulk of the humans and synths are crowded around Dr. Frisch before approaching, standing back as the rear guard.

And suddenly, shockingly, out of the corner of his eye, X6 spots…

Deacon.

Deacon, standing in the crowd of humans like he belongs here, obediently leaning toward Dr. Frisch with one hand in the pocket of a ragged pair of jeans, ever present sunglasses still firmly perched on his nose. Looking like any other sympathizer or recent recruit. Looking completely unremarkable, like no one at all.

Only years of training keeps him on his feet, though his knees go traitorously weak and his heartbeat kicks into overdrive, slamming against his ribs like a frantic, startled bird. There’s something different about Deacon’s face — longer, sharper, tucked-up in a way that must be surgical — but not different enough to fool him. Deacon doesn’t turn to look, but just as X6 takes a deep, steadying breath, Deacon reaches up behind his head, miming a scratch, and wiggles three of his fingers in a tiny, unmistakable wave.

—————-

X6 doesn’t seek him out right away, of course. There’s no way to find out what’s going on without immediately drawing suspicion, and he’s not fool enough to break cover. His or Deacon’s, apparently.

No, X6 listens dutifully to the scientists then heads to his next post — supervising a pair of synths sent to lookout positions on the roof. Not even a second glance at Deacon as he strides out the door, suppressing the desperate instinct to look again, to make _sure _, to drink him in like water to a parched man in a desert. Smooth and still as a starless night, not even a flicker of light to betray his surprise, his sudden, leaping joy.__

____

They haven’t seen each other since that stolen night in the snowstorm. For reasons X6 couldn’t fully explain, he’d never reported that encounter up to the ex-Director, but for reasons he couldn’t fully explain, he hadn’t. Justifies his omission with the assurance that the ex-Director must know about him and Deacon, at least in the abstract sense, but if the ex-Director knew X6 had ferreted out Deacon’s location at Covenant from coded Railroad reports, had in fact abandoned his post on more than one occasion to tail Deacon and make sure he was safe, he’d pull both of them out of the field so fast their heads would crack together on the way out.

____

Squinting in the weak sunshine, X6 settles his sunglasses more firmly on his nose and waves his two synth reports toward the rifles neatly stacked up on a small table.

____

“One of you take south, the other take west,” X6 says shortly, unclipping his own laser rifle from its holster. “You know the rest.”

____

They both scramble slightly to obey, and X6 hides a grimace. He knows he scares them, but he can’t allow them to become complacent, toward their duties or toward him. He needs to perform up to his old standards, if he’s going to save them in the end.

____

_Maybe that’s why Deacon’s here? Smuggling a few of them out?_ X6 frowns at the thought. _Quite a risk, to do so while I’m here. Not like the ex-Director to be so rash._

____

Not that it matters. X6 has his mission, and Deacon apparently has his.

____

Still. Terrible that the ex-Director didn’t bother to warn him — X6’s composure in the field is legendary, of course, but it was a stupid, pointless risk not to inform him of Deacon’s involvement. _I’ll make sure to mention that little detail in my next report, then,_ X6 thinks, and there’s a strange burst of pleasurable satisfaction at the childish impulse.

____

—————

____

As soon as he can, X6 slips into the nearest empty office with a terminal and locks himself inside. The Institute’s record-keeping is abysmal compared to the meticulous personnel reports from before, but the admins here are still highly selective about who they let in. X6 codes in his passphrase and pulls up all he can find about entry interviews for the past two months.

____

_How did he get past the security measures? How did they not poke immediately, obvious holes in whatever story he’s feeding them?_ X6 knows Deacon is an accomplished spy with decades of wartime experience, a master of infiltration and undercover work, the most gifted impersonator X6 has ever known, but still. He’s not _that_ good.

____

Is he?

____

X6 pulls up all the latest entry files and clicks through each one, both to be certain that it really was Deacon, and to create a reasonable terminal history on the off-chance he’s questioned about this later. Better safe than sorry, even with the patchwork surveillance that’s all the Institute can manage these days. And sure enough, there he is:

____

_Nathan Stanton, caravan guard, sympathetic to Institute goals. Useful contact for information gathering, potential safehouse guard._

____

_Alias: Joker_

____

A shiver runs through him — the cover, the fake name, all of that is standard spycraft. But the alias? That one’s just for him. X6 remembers, fleetingly, their card games on a rickety table, the slant of the sunlight overhead the first time they’d kissed, and his heartbeat beats a quick tattoo against his ribs.

____

Suddenly, there’s rap on the door, a four-knock pattern that X6 hasn’t heard since his little house in Sanctuary. If X6 were anything less than synthetically perfect, if X6 were human and startle-able, he would’ve jumped.

____

He doesn’t, of course.

____

Instead X6 wipes his screen clean with a single keystroke, straightens up, and flips the locks. Deacon’s in the room before he can blink, casual as anything, and X6 sucks in a hard, unnecessary breath as Deacon closes the door behind him.

____

“Long time no see, baby” Deacon says, lowering his ever-present sunglasses down on his nose and tossing X6 a quick wink.

____

X6 swallows against a sudden, tight pressure in his chest — up close, the difference in Deacon’s face is jarring. Sharper nose, wider jawline, mouth turned down at the corners in a way X6 had never seen before. The stretch of his skin over his cheekbones is slightly pink. Raw, like a barely healed scar, and before X6 can stop himself he’s reaching for Deacon’s face.

____

Deacon’s still smiling, but goes quiet and unmoving when X6 gently grabs his chin, tilting his face from side to side.

____

_It must have hurt._

____

“That’s…that’s very good work,” X6 says after a long pause. “Different enough, but not so much that you’d need extensive recuperation time, I suppose.”

____

“Glad you approve,” Deacon says, and places his hand gently over X6’s. “I wanted to go all Handsome Secret Agent just for you, but too good-looking is conspicuous. Not that I need to tell you that.”

____

The last with a grin, and X6 almost laughs when he releases him.

____

“As conspicuous as following me into locked rooms?” X6 says dryly. “That can’t be part of your infiltration plan.”

____

X6 is teasing him, maybe even baiting him — whatever Deacon’s mission, contact with him must be strictly forbidden. But X6 wants to hear Deacon say it, to name the order he’s disobeying to see him like this. It shouldn’t be flattering, the risk he’s taking, and yet...

____

Deacon raises an eyebrow, hesitating for a few moments. Glances away from X6, down to his dust-covered boots.

____

_Strange._

____

“Don’t tell me he sent you here to actually make contact with me?” X6 says, frowning. That would be so far outside of normal Railroad procedure that he’d almost be worried.

____

“Nah, I’m definitely playing the bad boy here,” Deacon says, nibbling on his lower lip, and something clicks into place in X6’s brain, hard and heavy as a gun.

____

“The ex-Director doesn’t know you’re here?” X6 says, staring at him, pulse pounding a painful tattoo in his left temple. “How — you can’t — even _you_ wouldn’t…”

____

Deacon shrugs disarmingly, aw-shucks grin firmly in place, and shoves his hands in his pockets. Every inch the rogue agent, and X6 blinks hard against the sudden rushing in his ears.

____

“I just missed you,” Deacon says, all charming California drawl, and X6 clenches his jaw against a sudden flush of heat. “Was worried about you. You seemed kinda off, the last time we…”

____

Flicker of memories — Deacon bleeding on the ground, Deacon shivering and dripping ice-cold water on the floor of an Institute outpost, Deacon laughing and naked in his arms, Deacon kissing him in a warm tangle of blankets — and X6 blinks hard with a firm shake of his head.

____

“I couldn’t...I didn’t know if you’d been briefed…” X6 says, and it’s not exactly an apology, but it’s close enough. He had wavered on telling Deacon, had almost let it slip, but he...couldn’t. He’d had his orders.

____

“That’s Foxtrot,” Deacon says, hiding the slight trace of bitterness in his voice with a careless half-laugh.

____

And suddenly it hits X6 all at once, how dangerous this is. Deacon is alone, alone in a secret Institute silo, and X6 would bet his best rifle that no one else knows he’s here.

____

“You need to leave. Now,” X6 says flatly, the metallic taste of fear spreading over the back of his tongue. “If you didn’t tell them...you won’t back-up, or any sort of monitoring from the Railroad or the Minutemen. If you’re caught...the people here, they’ll…”

____

He can’t complete the thought, his throat going tight with the beginnings of panic. If they find out who Deacon is, they’ll torture him to within an inch of his life for every scrap of info Deacon might give up. Pry whatever they can get out of him, and once they’ve deemed him useless there won’t be enough of him left to bury.

____

“You need to _go_ ,” X6 says instead, his voice hard and cold, trying fruitlessly to tamp down his suddenly racing pulse.

____

Tired of me already, baby?” Deacon says, but X6 grabs his shoulder in an iron hold, willing him to listen.

____

This is not a game,” X6 grits out. ‘“I — you —”

____

“I know,” Deacon says, suddenly serious, the grin sliding off of his face. “I just...I had to see you. I thought you might…”

____

He trails off, but X6 doesn’t have time to tease out the significance of every question-mark shaped pause in Deacon’s words.

____

“And now you’ve seen me,” he says instead, gentling his grip, smoothing one thumb over the wrinkle he made in Deacon’s shirt. “I’m fine. So you need to figure out a good exit plan and execute it immediately. Understood?”

____

“Jeez. You’re the boss, boss,” Deacon says, another tiny smile tugging at his lips as he lets out a short huff of a breath. “Though I gotta say, you standing there firing off commands kinda makes me wanna stick around, if you know what I mean.”

____

“Amusing as always,” X6 deadpans, but something hot and sweet sparks under his skin all the same, and he abruptly releases Deacon. 

____

“Seriously, though,” Deacon says. “If you ever need me — if you ever need back-up of your own — use this. And I’ll come runnin’.”

____

He shoves something into X6’s hand, small enough to fit easily in the curl of his palm. X6 frowns, holding the tiny object up to examine it in the dim fluorescent light. Some sort of radio transmitter, X6 guesses. Probably synced directly to a terminal Deacon can monitor, or perhaps even a matching one that Deacon can carry. Clever, and not unwelcome, but he has contingency plans already worked out with the ex-Director.

____

“This isn’t necessary,” X6 says, holding out his hand to give the device back to Deacon. “I’m here on orders, and this is too valuable an asset to waste. Give it to another one of your agents.”

____

“Trust me. Foxtrot’s good, but I’m better,” Deacon says evenly, gently pushing X6’s hand away, and X6 tries not to notice the heat in his hand, the drag of calloused fingertips against his skin. “If you’re really in a jam, just flip the cover and press the button. Toss it away later, destroy it, whatever you want — as long as you get the signal out, I’ll be able to find you.”

____

X6 realizes that Deacon is...worried. Worried about what the ex-Director is asking him to do. A strange glow of happiness at the thought — X6 is fairly certain no one has ever been worried for him before — but he doesn’t have the words to explain to Deacon that X6’s existence is somewhat beside the point.

____

As far as X6 is concerned, the world ended when the Institute fell. This is the afterlife, for synths like him. ‘Repenting’ isn’t exactly right, but it’s not wrong, either, and either way X6 knows now he can’t just leave it all behind him and start over, because there is nothing else for him. The Institute is his entire life, the _reason_ for his life — he can’t abandon them now.

____

He owes them, too, though that's harder to lay out in neat, logical pathways. He was used by them, but he loved them, loved what they gave him — where do his responsibilities now lie? All he knows is that there is good to be salvaged here, if the Institute followers could only untangle it from their need to control, to subjugate, to create a hierarchical system and then place themselves firmly on top.

____

It’s a betrayal, what he’s doing. But it’s also salvation.

____

_Deacon wouldn't understand_ , X6 thinks, but with none of the malice or bitter resentment he once held toward all Wastelanders. _No human could._

____

“I chose this, Deacon,” he says instead, quiet and serious, and Deacon lets out something like a small, strained chuckle.

____

“Couldn’t be satisfied with a quiet life, huh? It’d be a lot easier on my blood pressure,” Deacon says, and X6 allows himself the indulgence of an answering smile.

____

“Pot,” he points to Deacon, his fingertip brushing the rough fabric of his jacket. “Kettle,” he says, jerking his thumb toward himself.

____

And this time Deacon laughs for real, rubbing the back of his neck in a sweetly familiar way.

____

“Fair,” Deacon concedes with a small tilt of his chin. “But even my ops aren’t this dangerous, buddy.”

____

“Oh? It must have been some _other_ Railroad agent I found bleeding out during a snowstorm,” X6 says dispassionately, raising an eyebrow, and Deacon grins again.

____

“Okay, okay,” Deacon says, holding his hands up in surrender.

____

Just then, a large crash echoes somewhere outside the room, and faster than Deacon or any human could react, X6 is shoving a hand over Deacon’s mouth. Whips his head around and pushes Deacon up against the wall with his body weight, his free hand reaching for the gun at his hip. Deacon doesn’t resist, allowing himself to be pressed backward, though X6 can feel the tension in his body, his stance weighted toward his back foot ready to run.

____

They stand like that for a long moment, X6’s ears straining for signs of a fight or an invasion, but X6 detects nothing but the muffled sounds of a clean-up, the murmuring of regular conversation. Nothing, then. X6 steps back, releasing Deacon and holstering his weapon with a single, smooth motion. Deacon doesn’t move from his slight lean against the wall; instead, he traces X6’s lower lip with his thumb, looking up at him with his mouth slightly open, and X6’s breath starts to pull shallow and short from his lungs.

____

_We should be coordinating our exit, not doing...whatever we’re on the cusp of doing_ , X6 thinks, see-sawing between wanting to shove Deacon out the door to keep him safe, and wanting to hold him fast like a talisman. _Deacon’s in danger_ , he reminds himself. _You need to get him out of here._

____

“Alright,” X6 says on a long, steadying breath. “You know where I am, and why I’m here. I’ll keep your tracker on me at all times. Satisfied?”

____

It should be enough, just to see him. To know he came here looking for him. He shouldn’t be craving anything more, shouldn’t be calculating how quickly he could get his hand on Deacon’s cock before anyone outside even started getting suspicious.

____

“Not really, but I’ll take what I can get,” Deacon says with another trace of a grin, straightening up finally, his sunglasses reflecting the blueish gleam of the overhead light bulbs.

____

X6 swallows. “There isn’t time —” he starts to say, but Deacon reaches out and places his hand on the back of X6’s neck, letting his thumb drift over X6’s collarbone, and X6’s heart starts to pound fast and sweet in his chest.

____

“I know,” Deacon says, and there’s a longing in his voice that makes X6’s skin prickle with heat. “I know, but —”

____

X6 doesn’t try to stop him when deacon leans forward and pulls him down into a desperate, open-mouthed kiss. Just sucks in a hard, quick breath — they shouldn’t, they can’t, they’re professionals for god’s sake — then kisses him back so hard he shoves Deacon back up against the wall, catching Deacon’s lower lip with his teeth. The familiar taste of Deacon in his mouth makes him groan, his mind helpfully supplying him with memories of the previous times they’d been together; Deacon panting in his lap, Deacon’s mouth on his cock, Deacon turning to face him in the tiny bed. Wraps one arm around Deacon’s waist, almost lifting him off the ground, and he feels more than hears Deacon’s shuddering moan reverberate in his chest.

____

_This is a bad, bad idea._

____

X6 slides a hand under Deacon’s shirt, running his nails over the dip in Deacon’s lower back and reveling in the shiver under his fingertips. Pulling back slightly, Deacon manages to wedge a hand between their bodies, and without any preamble presses his palm against X6’s already stiff erection.

____

“Deacon,” X6 gasps into Deacon’s mouth, bucking into the friction as the hot coil of pleasure curls tighter in his gut. The anticipation that had been simmering since Deacon walked into the room surges within him with a molten heat, and any last traces of restraint snap like a tether.

____

“Let me,” Deacon murmurs, his fingers scrabbling at X6’s belt buckle. “I’ll be fast, I know — _fuck_ , you feel so good — I know we can’t stick around —” 

____

X6 kisses him again, reaching down to help Deacon with the buckle of his pants, almost dizzy with eagerness. _Then I’ll take him into my mouth, like he’s done for me_ , X6 thinks through a heavy haze of lust, another bright pulse of heat rolling between his legs. And X6 thinks he understands for the first time what it is to feel possessive, after so many decades of being, himself, a possession. He wants to suck Deacon off, wants to fuck him, but more than anything he wants to keep him. Keep him safe, keep him here, wants to make Deacon _his_.

____

A slight rattle, a click, and X6 realizes half a second too late that someone’s unlocking the door from the outside.

____

"Shit,” X6 breathes, and Deacon’s right there with him, his gaze already fixed on the door as he whips his hand out of X6’s pants. They pull apart so fast X6 crashes into the desk behind him with a loud clang, and Deacon slams his elbow against the wall with a painful-sounding crack in his haste to put some space between them. But when the door opens X6 is still buckling his belt, Deacon still pulling his rumpled shirt into some semblance of order, and with a spike of dread X6 knows even a fool could figure out what they’d been doing.

____

T5 blinks at them from the doorway, the bulk of her body blocking the view outside of the room, and she quickly steps in and shuts the door behind her. X6 holds his breath — not the worst person to find them all things considered, but fraternizing with any but the most high-ranking scientists was strictly forbidden for synths, and T5 was as obedient as every other courser.

____

“Apologies,” she says formally, inclining her head toward Deacon. “I need to speak with Unit X6-88.”

____

“Ah, right. N-no problem,” Deacon says, and X6 is pleased to hear his voice flatten into a thick Commonwealth accent, to see Deacon stumble out the door with a most un-Deacon-like clumsiness; it’s Nathan Stanton the caravan guard who slinks past T5 without a backward glance.

____

A long pause, with X6’s pulse pounding uncomfortably in the tips of his fingers, then T5 raises her eyebrow at him with a tiny, barely-there grin.

____

“Looks like you’re finding ways to pass the time,” she says blandly, and X6 doesn’t try to hide his own embarrassment as he pulls his jacket tighter across his back.

____

“I — that was —,” he starts, but T5 lets out a small chuckle.

____

“Relax,” she says, one corner of her mouth still curled upward, and when X6 sees her amused expression, he actually does. “I didn’t see anything worth reporting.”

____

Closing his eyes, X6 tries to calm his racing heart, the back of his neck still tingling with the whisper of an executioner’s blade. _Lucky. Too lucky._

____

“Thank you,” he says seriously, looking over at her. “That was...I shouldn’t have done that.”

____

Deacon’s body, fragile and human under his hands — T5 could tear him apart without a second thought. What were they thinking, to get so shamefully wrapped up in each other? They have a _mission_.

____

T5 shrugs a graceful, powerful shoulder. “In the old days he could’ve filled out a form and done it properly — it’s not such a crime to skip that step when we can’t even get more than two working terminals in here.”

____

“Still,” he says, something in his chest tightening almost painfully at this display of kindness, of friendship and loyalty. _The Institute doesn’t deserve her, or me, or any of us._ “I owe you.”

____

X6 owes her in a way T5 might not ever understand. X6 owes her more than his distracted attention, his affection-addled brain, his part-time dedication. He owes her — all of them — everything he has to give, and X6 promises himself once again to the cause of her liberation.

____

“Let’s just get back to work,” T5 says, sitting down in the chair at the terminal desk and gesturing him toward the door with a dismissive flick of her fingers. “And we can call it even.”

____

“Of course,” X6 says with a brisk, head-clearing nod. “Back to work.”

____

—————

____

Seven weeks and two days later, X6 is found sending Institute movement plans to an unauthorized and unknown terminal code. As he’s forcibly dragged away to an interrogation room, bleeding profusely from a head wound sustained in the struggle to subdue him, he manages to thumb the button of a tiny, hidden device sewn into the sleeve of his courser uniform, before sliding into hazy unconsciousness.

____


End file.
